


Here We Are As In Olden Days

by Selkie_de_Suzie



Category: How the Grinch Stole Christmas (2000)
Genre: AU, Christmas Fluff, Fluff, Lovely Garbage, Romance, childhood flashback, holiday fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-19
Updated: 2015-12-19
Packaged: 2018-05-07 13:46:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5458646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Selkie_de_Suzie/pseuds/Selkie_de_Suzie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She never thought she would see him again. And now…it’s Martha May’s turn to give a gift.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Here We Are As In Olden Days

**Author's Note:**

> At long last, the Lovely Garbage fanfic that apparently never left after I thought it up all those years ago. I swear to God, I wouldn’t even be posting this if it weren’t for the lovely encouragement from some lovely people Tumblr... 
> 
> Try not to judge me too hard for this, this is *so* ridiculous…
> 
> Have yourselves Merry (Early) Christmas, you guys =)

Lights were swimming around her, dazzling her eyes, but any proper words were simply stuck in Martha May’s throat. The band was still playing,  _twenty seconds on the clock,_  he was actually  _forcing_  her to make a choice like  _this_  in twenty seconds –!

Martha May had always prided herself on being the epitome of glamour and class and poise, but now she was seized with the utterly unladylike desire to hit something, especially if that something was named Augustus Maywho.

How could he,  _how could he do this to her,_  she had merely thought him as a friend at best, a tiresome acquaintance at least, and  _now_  –

In front of everyone, a spotlight shining on her, she had always loved attention but  _not like this_ , not like this at _all_  –

Whobilation had always been a spectacle,  _but this was –!_

This was in front of  _everyone,_  making it so that she  _had_  to reply,  _had_  to give an answer, have it witnessed by all–

Witnessed by _him._

Martha’s eyes helplessly went to the one person she hadn’t  _dared_  to hope would come tonight, even with little Cindy Lou’s earnest nomination –

The Grinch wasn’t even looking at her now, prowling as he was around Augustus’s car, but earlier…

As soon as Augustus had knelt down before her, held out that great  _gaudy_ ring, those yellow eyes had met hers, and –

_He looked so hurt._

A cold little curl of something Martha May desperately didn’t want to think of as guilt twisted through her heart – she  _hadn’t_  known, it wasn’t like she could have – it wasn’t like they were – they hadn’t seen each other in  _years_ , the last time on that  _horrible_  day –

 _Oh dear heavens_ , the band was  _still_  playing!

She mouthed desperately, and finally some words came out. “Well, I–uh–"

Augustus’s smile was getting a bit frozen as the band generously decided to loop their tune for another few twenty seconds, and she _had_  to give an answer, she  _had_ to,  _there was no other way_ , he had made it so –

Martha May looked over the crowd, all of them beaming up at her, so eager to hear her accept such lovely gifts, accept his proposal, accept the whole situation –

_No._

Her voice was faint but still picked up by Augustus’s microphone. “I’m terribly sorry, but I have to go.”

And with that she picked up her skirts and ran for dear life down the stairs.

Gasps and cries of shock rang through the square, the band finally silenced. There was incomprehension on every Who face, and no one tried to stop her, all of them recoiling from her as if her sheer  _ingratitude_ over such lavish presents was contagious, but Martha May didn’t care,  _couldn’t_  care –

There was a squeal and whine of a microphone being seized, and then Augustus’s voice carried over the tumult, desperately trying to restore calm and order. “Er, well – let’s –let’s continue on with the Whobilation, and – and we’ll see how dear Martha feels after she takes care of her,  _ah_ , jitters –“

Martha May merely hiked up her skirts further and continued to fight her way through the crowd, her heels helping her not one bit.  _Thinking she had the **jitters** , of all things, no no no, she simply  **couldn’t**  stay here one more moment –!_

With a final flurry of skirts, the crowd still babbling in confusion behind her, Martha made her escape.

* * *

It was a rare sight indeed, having the streets of Whoville so  _empty_ and  _calm_ , what with everyone being packed into the city’s square for Whobilation. 

Indeed, it was almost serene with the snowdrifts and the sparkling stars overhead, and the sound of her quick little inhales seemed embarrassingly loud to Martha May as she finally came to a stop. Her breath hung in the air like the tiniest little puffs of clouds, and she realized all too late that she had left her wrap back at the celebration.

Well, she wasn’t about to go back and get it  _now._  With that in mind, Martha briskly rubbed her gloved hands up and down her arms, glancing down at herself. Chilled, yes, but still quite tidy and glamorous. She’d have  _never_ forgiven Augustus if he had made her muss herself in her desperate escape –

Martha May winced, her lashes fluttering shut.  _Oh, to depart in such a rush, it was so utterly unbecoming –!_

But she _couldn’t_  have stayed one more minute, she simply  _couldn’t_  have!

 _How could he?_  How could he have even  _thought_  that such a thing was the slightest bit of permissible? Calling her the  _love of his life_  when she had barely encouraged any of his attention! Thinking he could  _buy_  her heart like he bought that ring and that car!

Martha May stamped her feet, trying to tell herself it was merely from the cold, her shivers from the chill air, certainly not from being overwrought –

And then to give that  _horribly_  cruel gift to  _him_ , when Martha May most certainly remembered that terrible day, the horrible memories linked to such a token –

She had thought – well,  _hoped_ – that Augustus had grown away from such  _pettiness_ , but that and his childish attempts to trap her –!

She sighed and flounced her skirts before making her way down the street, her thoughts and emotions in a proper froth. There was no reason to be so  _dramatic_ , he wasn’t trying to  _trap_  her, he had merely  _proposed_  to her –

_In front of everyone. In front of **him!**_

Martha May halted and pressed a hand to her curls, giving a faint groan. Oh, but what an utter  _mess_  this all was. To think she had been so  _excited_  for tonight, for the faint chance she might see  _him_  again –

And then Augustus had to ruin it all.

Martha May felt her cheeks pink in a way that wasn’t at all due to the weather, and felt a tremble start from the top of her head and travel down to the tips of her lovely shoes.  _Oh, but she could just scream–!_

But she couldn’t. She was a  _lady_ , and besides, such noise would undoubtedly attract attention. She would  _not_  have her escape rendered null and void. 

Martha still let out a little huff of a breath, her eyes searching the streets for something,  _anything –_

And as luck would have it, plastered on the building in front of her were several of those voting posters that Augustus put all over the entire city come every election. His grinned at her from the paper, his smile large and his eyes insincere.

Martha May gazed at it, tilting her head, her curls brushing her bare shoulders.  _She couldn’t…_

Her red lips twisted in determination, and she suddenly found herself crouching down, her skirts billowing about her, scooping up some snow into her hands, the flakes sticking to the luxurious fabric. She quickly shaped the ball, making it small and hard, and then threw her arm back, her eyes narrowing.

 _Oh yes she certainly could._    

The snowball hit the poster smack-dab on the eyes, but Martha didn’t even let herself savor the sight. She quickly bent to make more missiles, and her breath quick and erratic, and soon a barrage of snowballs pelted against the poster, against that insufferable smile.  _How could he have done that, how could he have even thought_  –

“We’re not even  _dating!”_  Martha May cried, grunting in exertion as she released her fifth snowball, her effort making it sail through the air and explode against Augustus’s face in a truly magnificent manner.

Most unfortunately, it also caused her heels to slide out right from underneath her, and Martha May found herself falling with a  _flump_  to the snowy street, her skirt cushioning her fall as they puffed up around her in a small cloud of gauzy green.  

She clapped her hands over her face and moaned. And now her dress was ruined.  _Splendid._

She was very tempted to sniffle in that moment, and for a few traitorous seconds, she had to blink her eyes quite hard indeed over the sheer  _unfairness_  of it all. The evening had been so lovely until…

Martha let her head bow, her curls tickling the back of her neck from where they had escaped her carefully constructed coiffure. Oh, she didn’t want to  _think_ about what the rest of the evening would be like. Everyone would be looking for her, expecting her to give an answer…

For all her fancy finery and glitz and glamour, Martha May felt very small and cold and shivery and unsure indeed just then, sitting in the middle of an empty, snowy street, hiding away from everyone on the night of Whoville’s biggest celebration. One could simply  _not_  be poised when in the midst of  _such_  emotional turmoil…

Then…

A sudden, sour sort of smell crept under her noise, and Martha May’s head shot up, her eyes wide in recognition.  _Oh my **word.**_

She had to shake her head slightly, she was so utterly discombobulated, her earrings swinging back and forth. Out of all the people to follow her, she would have never expected  _him_.

Her necklace glittered in the streetlamps glow as she turned her head to speak over her shoulder. “All these years, and I can  _still_  recognize that stench.”

There was a clatter of garbage cans and a curse, and then a voice, recognizable and grumpy and right behind her. “Well, so what? No need to fix what’s not broken.”

Martha let out a highly unladylike snort. “True.” She hadn’t meant it as an insult, anyway. She had always rather  _liked_  his smell, musty and slightly sour and familiar…

_She had liked everything about him…_

She kept her eyes fixed on the snowy marks on the poster in front of her and then tilted her head, thinking of something. “So…I suppose you still eat garbage?” Ms. Rue Who had had an absolute  _devil_  of a time keeping him out of the school’s waste bins…

“The stuff you Whos throw away is disgraceful,” Grinch retorted. “Max and I can feast on it for days.” A sneer came into his voice. “Besides, I remember those onion sandwiches you used to eat, so there’s no need to act so  _prissy_ –“ 

“I  _still_ eat them,” Martha May said, turning to face him indignantly. Goodness, he had remembered  _that_ , after all this time?

Although…that  _had_  been how they had first talked…

_“Mind if I join you?” She tried not to wriggle, her shiny black shoes tapping at the floor as he scrutinized her distrustfully, his strange face furrowing._

_He scowled at her, evidently deciding a pretty girl **had**  to have ulterior motives in talking to the furry little green  **freak**  that everyone avoided. “Why not sit with all those sappy little Who friends of yours?”_

_She ducked her head and clutched her sandwich close to her, her lacy gloves crinkling the paper. “The other girls said my lunch smelled…”_

_They had also whispered that this new Who girl seemed like an awful **snob** , with her fancy airs and her dressy gowns and her hoity-toity manner –_

_Martha had just wanted to act like a proper lady on her first day of school, thinking that dressing nicely was a good way to go about it…_

_She had just wanted to be polite…_

_His yellow eyes darted from her expression to her sandwich, and those furry eyebrows rose. “Is that **onion?”**_

_Her cheeks turned rosy. “Yes…I…I can’t help it, I like how it tastes…”_

_“Lucky,” he scowled at her again, though this one was far less fierce. “My moms never pack me anything good, they give me all this **sweet**  stuff–”_

_He spat out the word like it had personally wrong him, and Martha May brightened, and her eyes twinkled like the lights on a Christmas tree as she held out her sandwich to him, warm and bright. “Would you like to share?”_

Everything had changed when young Augustus Maywho had decided she was something  _special_ , and Martha had found herself swept up into a whirlwind of popularity. But…

She had never forgotten him, had never wanted to stop talking to him, no matter how messy and smelly and sour he got, no matter how her new friends had puzzled over such a thing.  Once Martha May decided she liked something, that was that. And she had decided that she liked that smelly, sour messy green furry fellow who liked sharing her sandwiches.

She liked him an  _awful_  lot.

And then that  _horrible_  day had happened, when they were all so cruel and she had done  _nothing…_

_So much happened, **has** happened…_

Now Martha shook herself and arched a brow at the Grinch, refusing to dwell on the past when the present was being downright  _mean-spirited_  to her. “And I wasn’t being  _prissy_  or  _mocking_  you, so there’s no need to be such a –“

He scowled at her, his grimace contorting his green face even more and crossing his arms. “A  _Grinch?”_

 _“Sourpuss,”_  Martha May finished, her fingers tucking some curls behind her ear, attempting to ignore how  _easy_  she had made it for him to scrutinize her, what with him standing and her sitting in the street like some ragamuffin. She tilted her head at him, her earrings swinging. “Who’s Max?”

Grinch opened his mouth and then shut it with a snap, and looked away, seemingly thrown by the question. “My dog,” he finally muttered, looking a cross between very peeved and very embarrassed.

Martha May blinked. “You have a pet?”

He scowled at her once more, and Martha vainly tried to ignore just how much she had  _missed_  that sight.  _“Obviously.”_

She flushed and looked down. “Oh. Well. That’s…nice. I’m glad, I would have hated to think you were all alone up there.”

He gave a snort, which turned into a hacking cough, and Martha May wrinkled her noise a bit. “Don’t know why it’s any of  _your_ business,” the Grinch sniffed finally, looking away from her once again. “I do just fine on my own.”

Martha’s mouth pursed, and she turned her back on him, keeping her posture as straight as you please. “Oh, of  _course_  you do,” she said, some haughtiness creeping into her tone. “Well, I would  _hate_  to be the one to get in the way of that, so if you don’t  _mind_ –“

“What, d’you want me to go?” He growled, glowering at her, but his eyes got that  _look_  in them, and –

Martha May could have torn her hair out just then. All those years gone by, and he was still so  _frustrating._

“I want to know  _why_  you’re here,” she said, a touch desperately.  _After all those years, why come tonight? Why come to Whobilation? Why come after me?_

_Have you missed me like I’ve missed you…?_

His cheeks turned an undeniably darker shade of green, his glower dropping as he looked away from her. Martha May had a brief moment to wonder at the sight he made, still dressed in that sweater, still wearing that crown, looking so very green and hairy and frankly rather  _lost_ –

“Not that I  _care_ ,” he growled, still looking away from her determinedly. “But…”

He folded his arms crossly, his long fingers tapping, making the bells sewn to his sweater jingle with a bright cheerfulness. His voice was still a growl, but it was a softer one. “…Are you alright?”

Martha May felt a strange sensation wash over her.  _He had been **worried** about her._

Her cheeks flushed anew, and she rubbed a hand at the back of her neck, the skin there prickling with something she wasn’t quite sure what to call. “ _Oh._  I’m…I’m fine. I just…”

_Everyone watching her, the band counting down…_

She winced and let her hands drop to her lap, the smooth fabric of her gloves slippery as she knotted her fingers together. “I just had to get away…”

Grinch was still watching her out of the corner of his eye, his mouth twisted into a grimace that Martha was tempted to say looked rather… _concerned._ She hastened to think of something to say that would convince him. “I just…I would have  _never_ expected Augustus to do something like  _that_ –“

His grimace broke into a scowl that was almost a snarl, his brow lowering and his tone scathing. “Oh  _sure_ , he would  _never_ want to make someone  _uncomfortable_ –“

“I meant propose to me at all,” Martha May said quietly, and the Grinch immediately shut up. “I don’t why he would. I thought he knew how I felt. And then, to do it front of  _everyone –!”_

She let out a groan, pressing the back of her hand to her brow. _“Humiliating.”_

There was a small pause, and then crunch of shoes on snow, slowly approaching her. “So…you two…you’re not…?”

Martha let out a laugh that was almost a bray before she quickly muffled it into something more genteel.  _“Dating?_  Heavens no. A few dinners and hearing endless variations about his tonsil removals does  _not_  a courtship make.” 

And wonder of wonders, Grinch laughed too. Well, maybe it was more of a mean-spirited snigger, but at least she could tell it wasn’t aimed at  _her_. And honestly, she wasn’t exactly feeling charitable enough toward Augustus to try and defend him. Still, her smile was just a touch guilty as she looked up at him and then patted the snow beside her.

His hairy brows shot up at that, his eyes wide, but after a few moments he joined her with a grumble, giving a dirty look at Augustus’s poster. “How’d  _he_  get to be the Mayor anyway?”

Martha May sighed and lifted one elegant shoulder. “You know Augustus. He was already from one of the wealthiest families in Whoville, it seemed only natural to have him follow his father for the position.” She toyed with her necklace. “Though…he  _did_  rather throw his weight around when it came to elections…”

The Grinch gave a cruel chuckle. “Lot to throw around.”

Martha quickly clapped a hand over her mouth, but her giggle still echoed down the street, and a certain smug twist came to Grinch’s mouth. Her long lashes brushed over warm cheeks as she looked off to the side. “Yes, well…he has always been used to getting what he wants.”

 _And apparently I’m one of those things_.

Martha May felt an uncharacteristic burn of anger go through her at that thought, and the Grinch gave a low snarl, his thoughts obviously along the same lines.

She gave a small huff of an exhale, her breath a small, dainty cloud of weariness and frustration in the chilled air, passing him a rather shy glance. “I suppose I thought he had grown out of being such a bully…”

Unsurprisingly, his face sunk into an even deeper glower, and he glared all the more fiercely at Augustus’s wretched poster. “Yeah,  _that_  sure happened…” he groused, a hint of a far darker growl in the back of his throat.

Martha bit her lip worriedly, her eyes darting down before she reached over and took one of his hands in hers. “That was an incredibly cruel trick for him to play,” she said quietly. “Giving you that gift, making you remember that. He should have  _never_  been so petty.”

The Grinch appeared to be frozen just then, looking down at where their hands joined, her elegant gloved fingers curled around his long, hairy green ones.

Martha May looked away, rather overwhelmed at the sight as well,  _though why oh why would she be, it was just simply holding hands_. Another question popped into her head and was out of her mouth before she could even think to stop it. “Why  _did_ you try to shave?”

He flinched violently and tugged his hand away to cross his arms, his whole posture as good as a scowl. “He said I didn’t have a chance with you,” he gritted out before Martha could apologize profusely. “Being eight years and having a  _beard.”_

Martha May gaped at him, her eyes wide.  _“He said that to you?”_

His shoulders – rather broad ones, she hadn’t thought to notice – hunched up even further, and another dark green flush crawled across his cheeks.

She sputtered in outrage.  _“Why, of all the –!”_  She put her hands on her hips and leveled an accusing glare at Augustus’s ridiculous poster. “Well, shows how much  _he_  knew. I  _liked_ your beard.”

His shoulders collapsed out of their hunch, and now it was his turn now to gape at her.  _“You did?!”_

Martha shrugged a shoulder, fiddling with her skirts as she vainly tried to avoid his thunderstruck gaze. “I…I thought it was cute,” she murmured, close to a mumble. “You were fuzzy. It was sweet.”

She could have sworn she heard the snap of sparks and the grind of gears as she watched the Grinch’s expression at that news. Truly, it was a wonder that a curl of smoke wasn’t coming from his ears…

Martha blushed anew before smoothing her hands over her bodice and skirts. Aside from the slush of the streets, they weren’t too worse for wear.  _A little mess never hurt anybody._ It seemed that she had forgotten that, what with no longer having his presence in her life…

Or maybe it was that his messiness was the exception to the rule. After all, Martha May  _had_  always thought that there was nothing better than the crisp, elegant  _newness_  of a store bought gift until he had –

She gave a loud gasp, making the Grinch jump.  _“Oh my stars, I nearly forgot –!”_

“What?” asked Grinch, narrowing his eyes at her suspiciously.

Martha tried to rise from the pavement as smartly as she could, but between her urgency and her skirts, it was a challenge. “I – I  _had_  wanted to show you, but none of us were  _certain_  if you would actually come tonight, so I didn’t think to bring it with me –”

“Bring  _what_  with you?” the Grinch asked again as he scrambled to his feet as well, his scowl utterly bewildered.

Martha May whirled around to face him, her skirts flaring and her face vivid with excitement as she seized his hand. “Come with me!”

And with that she tugged him after her as she started making her frantic way down the streets, heels and skirts cumbersome as ever, but feet and heart light as the stars above as the Grinch held onto her hand for dear life.

* * *

“Just wait right here while I pop inside,” Martha instructed instructed as they went through her gate, finally letting go of his hand (despite several grouchy complaints and demands for an explanation, he had made no move to let go of hers and she was  _not_  about to do anything to discourage him).  “I shan’t be too long, I know right where it is –“

“This is _your_  home?” He asked, squinting up at the deluge of lights, raising a brow.

Martha fluffed her skirts, standing tall and proud. “Indeed it is. And I did the Christmas lights myself, won first prize again –“

“Why? Theirs are better,” Grinch said, pointing a hairy finger over at Betty Lou’s.

Martha May’s mouth fell open and she had a few good moments of sputtering before she threw her hands up with a huff of annoyance. “Just – just wait here, please.”

He gave a noncommittal jerk of his head, his wreath bobbing slightly, but slumped against one of her pillars, and Martha departed in a flurry of skirts, her heart inexplicably racing.  _There was no need to be nervous, no need at all –_

_Except over the chance that he’ll ridicule you –_

She set her jaw.  _He would **not**_. The Grinch might have been sour as a crabapple as ever, but she knew – well,  _hoped_  – that true cruelty was beyond him.

She was back out of her house as quick as can be, the snow on her stoop dusting up as her skirts fluttered over the steps.  Martha’s breath was quick and her cheeks were pink from both exertion and excitement as she finally stopped before him, her words tumbling out of her as she held the precious item close. “I – I didn’t just dig this up for tonight, of course, I’ve kept it ever since – I mean, I just couldn’t let it collect dust, and even if it doesn’t exactly match the rest of my décor, my Christmas tree just wouldn’t be the same without it –“

“Without  _what?_  What  _is_  it?” His voice wasn’t a snarl of exasperation, but frustrated bewilderment was in every line of the Grinch’s face.

Martha May let out a slow exhale to calm her nerves, and then held out her hands to show what she had clasped to her heart. “This.”

Time hadn’t been terribly kind to it, and even taking that fact into account, it was indeed a cracked and shoddy little thing. But when the Grinch looked at it, his eyes widened with astonished recognition, and a sharp inhale cut through the cold air.

When he spoke, it was in an incredulous whisper, the softest she had ever heard his voice.  _“You…you **kept**  it…?”_

She wouldn’t have thought it was possible to melt on such a chilly night, but the Grinch’s face as he looked at the angel he had made for her –  _for **her**_ –so very long ago, so very carefully glued together, demanded it.

Her shoulders slumped out of any tenseness, and Martha’s voice was as soft as his. “Of  _course_  I did…”

_“Why?”_

His face was  _so_  gob-smacked, those yellow eyes  _so_  frankly at a loss, that a deep twist of pain went through Martha May. She took a rather shaky inhale and knew she could only give him the truth.“Because it was the loveliest Christmas gift I had ever been given.”

He looked from the cracked little angel to her face several times, the wreath perched upon his head wiggling with each double take.

“You…” Martha May clutched it back to her chest, biting her lip before continuing on, her voice full of feeling.  _“You made this for me._  No had ever –  _has_  ever –  _made_  a Christmas gift for me before. Do you have  _any_  idea how  _much_  that  _meant…?”_

She looked down at it, and the tiny little angel smiled up at her still, her expression as sweet and shattered as ever as Martha gently put it into his hands. “It’s…it’s my favorite Christmas decoration. My tree…it doesn’t  _feel_ like Christmas without it.”

_It doesn’t feel like Christmas without a reminder of you. I’ve missed you._

The words were on the tip of her tongue, but the Grinch hadn’t said a word. His eyes were still fixed on his long ago gift to her, and Martha was loathe to break the moment, no matter how cold she got, no matter how hard her heart was thudding, and both silence and snow fell…

All those years without him had made her greedy, apparently. She would take what time she could have with him, even if it was just a ruined Whobilation and a few moments on her steps.

And then he would go back to Mt. Crumpet, retreating back into the dump there and leaving her behind with just a broken, dearly beloved little reminder…

Martha sighed forlornly and looked back over to the streets led into the center of Whoville. “I…I suppose you’ll be wanting to go soon.”  Truly, she wouldn’t blame him if he did, what with the nasty prank Augustus had pulled –

His head shot up at that, his face wary once more. “Do you want me to?”

Martha recoiled, shocked. “What?  _No!_  I…I merely supposed…” She fluttered a bit, dithering over her words. “I suppose I thought what with Augustus did…”

He scowled and shot a nasty look over to where music and cheering blossomed from – evidently the crowds have recovered enough from the shock of her departure to continue on the joys of Whobilation. “I don’t want to go  _there.”_  He arched a brow at her. “What about _you?”_

She sighed once more. “Nor do I. Augustus will want an answer, and as angry as I am at him, a public refusal is simply too cruel.”

And then reality must have departed for a few moments, because the Grinch was actually  _grinning._  “So you  _are_  gonna say  ** _no_**  to him?”

 _“Later._  In  _private_.” Martha sniffed, her nose in the air. “I will handle it as a lady should, with decorum and the right touch.” And right now there was too much of a chance of said touch being a slap across that great bully’s face –

Grinch’s smile was still smug. “Send me a letter about how much he cries.”

She gave gentle swat to his shoulder. “ _Callous._  I shan’t send you any such letters. You’ll simply have to visit me if you want details.”

The Grinch was about to grouse back a retort when her words seemed to get through to him. “You…you want me to come visit you?”

Martha May adjusted a glove, pursing her lips. “If it’s not  _too_  terribly unbearable for you,” she said archly as she fanned out her fingers and examined the garment, her heart fluttering once more in her breast.

“I… _may_  be able to find room in my schedule,” he replied with a studied carelessness, examining his sweater for lint.  He flicked at a bell, which jingled merrily. “Maybe. One day.  _If_  I ever had the time.”

She had to remind herself quite sternly that it would be  _incredibly_  forward and  _most_  improper to seize him in a hug, but a smile escaped nonetheless. “I would like that.”

He studied her face as if to assuage the truth of that statement, a furry eyebrow rising questioningly. Martha arched a brow back at him, her smile still lingering at her lips, and now his whole face flushed a dark green. But there was also a hint of a smile.

Martha’s heart jumped at the sight, and felt the gladdest it had been all night. She almost gave a titter of joy. Goodness, but it was just like old times, talking like this, making him blush.  _All that’s needed is a –_

Her eyes brightened, and she twisted a curl around her finger as she eyed him. “You know, even if you  _don’t_ go back to Whobilation…you needn’t go right  _now.”_

His brow lowered in confusion. “I don’t?”

“And _I_  needn’t suffer an empty house,” Martha May continued, waving a careless hand to her magnificent – if rather lonely – abode.

His brow sank even lower. “No…?”

“I may have some onions in my icebox,” Martha explained, and  _oh_ , her tone positively  _pathetic_  what with how  _eager_  it was. “Perhaps even some garlic…”

Bewilderment was still twisting his face, and Martha sighed, full of fond exasperation.  _Men._  Green or not, they were all clueless.

She cocked her head, her earrings and eyes twinkling like the stars under the glow of her Christmas lights, warm and bright. “Would you like to share a sandwich with me?”

He blinked at her, and  _oh,_  her heart  _shouldn’t_  be racing like this, she  _shouldn’t_ be holding her breath so –

And then one side of his mouth lifted in a half-smile. “Alright.”

Martha May beamed and he promptly rolled his eyes, letting his shoulders slump as though extremely put upon. “Since you  _insisted,_  and we need to salvage this whole stupid night  _anyway_  –“

“Of course,” Martha laughed, giving his cheek a quick kiss. It seemed to freeze the Grinch, his eyes wide and unblinking as she merrily made her way into her house, her skirts swishing. Goodness, but now she was suddenly feeling  _very_  warm indeed. “I’ll start making them right now if you’ll just wait right here.”

She was just sashaying into the kitchen when she heard a rather strangled voice come from the front.  _“I want extra garlic on mine!”_

Martha May chuckled to herself, and she began to neatly chop the onions, humming a Christmas tune to herself.

And if her eyes were rather misty, well…

That was all due to the onions.


End file.
